A Meeting of Minds
by Ballerion
Summary: Adama Cyrell is a Tournament player with problems. Ever since his unexplained dissapearance several months ago he has had crippling dreams and can feel the touch of other minds against his own. His career seems to be coming to an end...
1. Chapter 1

It was starting to happen more often. Adama sat on his bunk with his head in his hands and clenched his teeth. The dream began to wash over him as he fought to keep it at bay. He fixed his mind on trivial things, what he had been doing that morning, what he had eaten for lunch, but it was no use. Familiar smells began to wash over him, the fiery stink of phospherous from all the explosives, the cold hard smell of iron from his surroundings and the sweet, cloying smell of blood. He looked down and saw himself, smaller than he remembered, decked out in his breastplate and greaves, no weapon in his hands. They were coming, he knew they were coming, three of them at least. Why didn't he have a bloody weapon? Desperately he looked around for cover, for something to use in a fight. He was in a room with only one doorway, a second level above him. The arena was decked out like an abandonned city, stone buildings crumbling into ruin. He spotted a metal bar, part of the intfrastucture of a shattered wall, and wrenched at it. It was blessedly loose and he pulled it all the way out. He knew he would never best three of them, not with his current weapon, but he felt himself head towards where he knew they were coming from. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a ladder leading to an overhang. _I could climb up and take them unawares_ he thought. _Yes, thats my best bet._ But he was still heading toward the hole in the wall that acted as a door. _Where am I going?_ _STOP!_ But he was already through, and there they were, startled at the sight of a seemingly unarmed opponent running at them. The first brought up his Enforcer and was met by a savage blow from the bar. There was a sickening crunch as his face collapsed. Adama felt himself bull rush into the dying man and send him flying at one of the others. He turned, trying to find the third and pain erupted in his shoulder as flak lanced into him. Luckily at such close range the flak had not had time to spread and only caught his shoulder, but the blow took him off his feet and flung him backward. God it hurt. He staggered up only to find the muzzle of the flak cannon pointed directly at his face. He had a moment, a brief moment, to look at the man wielding it. He was stocky, his scarred armour marking him as a veteran player, there was a large burnt patch of skin where the left side of his face should have been. It made his smile grotesque. Then there was a flash.

Adama screamed. With some of the waking dreams he resurfaced only mildly shaken, but Rage's dream frightened him deeply and he sometimes screamed after. It was the burnt man that he was screaming about. Most people were in the game because they had to be or for money or fame, but every once in a while there was one who did it purely for the kill, for the moment of power when you have the lives of men and women in your grasp. Adama was not scared of the burnt man himself, all men die, but of what he saw in his eyes. He saw the moment when an utterly evil man had complete control over his fate.

He flew backwards at the imagined impact of the flak and hit the wall of his sleeping cell. He took several deep breaths, sucking in air desperately. As his breathing returned to normal he ran through his excercise in his head. He did it every time he had one of his dreams, to try and understand what had happened, to try and fathom a way of changing how the dreams ended. Adama was sick and tired of always dying. _Why can i never change the outcome?_ _Why does my body never listen to my mind?_ It was not until he had reached the end of his excercise that he realised something was wrong. _My body, it wasn't Rage's, it was Tactician's._ Rage and Tactician were two of the names Adama had given to two of the collections of memories that seemed to float inside his mind. There were five in total: Rage was the appitome of strength, bloodlust and bravery, the desire to meet his opponents and break them always foremost in his mind. Tactician was a planner, he formulated strategies and collected information on his enemies to bring to bear later. Assassin was the name given to the dark and brooding memories Adama often encountered in his mind. Probing had revealed a master of the silent kill, skilled at short range and deadly in hand to hand combat. Leader was exactly what his name suggested, a born commander of men. He knew how to make men listen, to play to their arrogances and weaknesses so that they became his men. The fifth was Tech, knowledgeable about everything mechanical, or so it seemed to Adama. Whether weapons or vehicles Tech knew how it worked and new how to improve it. Adama had discovered them about five months ago, just after the blank period in his memory. He realised that the they must be linked, his missing time and these new 'friends' of his. Combined with his own knowledge the information and skills that the five brought to Adama made him a formidable player in the Tournament, or would have done if these constant memory dreams did not leave him a shaking wreck. The last time it happened it had almost cost him his life. He had collapsed onto his team's flag podium in a particularily brutal capture the flag match and just lay there. Luckily he had been carrying the opposing team's flag at the time and ended the match with his fall.

_But that was Rage's dream, what was Tactician doing in it instead?_ The thought puzzled Adama but he did not have time to dwell on it as the door to his chamber announced several visitors. Adama looked at the view screen to the side of the door and let out a long sigh. It was Mace Kendell, sponsor and constant annoyance of Adama's Tournament career, escorted by two of his bodyguards. Adama buzzed them in.

"Wait outside." Mace told his guards. He stepped into Adama's cabin bringing the acrid smell of the cigars he loved so much with him. "We need to talk Ady."

"Do you mind putting that out, you know I hate the smell," said Adama, he was sitting on his bed with his legs over the side. "Thanks," he said when Mace obliged, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm gonna get straight to the point Ady, i'm withdrawing my sponsorship. Theres some very promising new blood coming in and I need all my resources to secure some of them. Gonna be real big some of these newbies, one girl in particular. Heartsbane they're calling her, as beautiful to look at as she is deadly apparently." Adama studied Mace for a moment, he was a strong looking man, not particularly tall but not short eiter. He had a well trimmed moustache drooping down towards his mouth and his fingernails were going yellow from tabacco overuse. Adama sighed again and let his head fall back onto the wall behind the bed.

"You picked a great time to tell me, what am I supposed to do with the Garaxis Cup just around the corner? Not compete? That would finish me after my recent performaces, you know that Mace." He had a resigned tone to his voice. He was still shaken after his dream.

"Relax hotshot, i've got you all paid up until after the Garaxis, you can even keep all your winnings, call it a parting gift."

"You're too kind Mace," said Adama sarcastically, he got up off his bed so he was face to face with his ex-sponsor, "good luck with the fresh meat." Mace Kendell grunted, and turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway.

"Look Adama, you know as well as I do that you've seen better days," he said turning, "maybe if you do well this season i'll carry you through the next, but lets face it, you don't have the makings of a champion, not any more." The door slid closed behind him, leaving Adama to his thoughts. _Shit_, was foremost amongst them. He could faintly feel the reactions of his 'friends' in his head. Rage wanted nothing more than to rip Kendell's head off, that made Adama smile. _You and me both buddy._ But deep down Adama knew what Mace said was true, his career had gone from bad to worse, ever since that month when he had dissapeared only to reappear confused and without a memory of the previous thirty days. _What happened? I used to be good._ It was after his dissapearance that the dreams had begun, the first few times Adama had shrugged them off as regular nightmares but then it had happened in the middle of the day, in the Tournament. Luckily that first time had been in a sim-match, where there are constant respawns and nobody actually gets hurt. Adama had been the whipping boy of that game, he died fourty eight times. He had no choice now but to keep to the sim-matches, one dream in a blood match, as they were known, and that would be the end. Unfortunately it was the blood matches where all the good money was, where you made a name for yourself. They weren't always to the death, people sometimes came away missing limbs but still with their lives, often the blood deathmatches would be until only five players remained, the Tournament wanted to keep some of the best fighters alive so they would keep raking in the crowds.

Adama gave one last shudder at the dream and put it out of his mind. The Garaxis Cup was in a few days and he needed to sign up to some matches. He grabbed his ID token from his bedside table, the only piece of furniture in the small room other than the bed and a locker for his belongings, and made for the Tournament player's hall. As he stepped out of his cell he saw his reflection on the shimmering metal wall opposite. _Do I really look that tired?_ The reflection that stared back at him showed a man of average height, about 5'11, and of average build, but well muscled. He had a handsome face framed by short dirty-blonde hair, but recently his face had taken on a haggard look. He was 25 years old, but at the moment looked a lot older. _I need dreamless sleep,_ he decided,_ i'll call on the medic department and see if they have anything that'll knock me out cold._ The Tournament kept a group of highly skilled doctors, paramedics, nurses and surgeons to tend to the players after battles and while they stayed in the tourney grounds. There was no point having damaged merchandise, a healthy fighter puts on a better show. That was their motto. The Tournament grounds themselves were huge, Adama walked through several passageways of player sleeping cells, much similar to his own, until he reached the main corridor of his building. The upper floors held better accomodation for higher ranked fighters, Adama used to have a room up there himself but recently he'd had to move down. Too expensive for a start. All the accomodation blocks had a central corridor that led into the player's hall, it had a high vaulted ceiling and could easily contain all the fighters that the rooms could cater for. In a word, it was massive. Near the middle of the hall was a collection of computer terminals where players could access the Tournament's database, this was where all records of battles were kept, descriptions of all the players and the sign-up register. Adama wended his way past the bars and seating areas and took a seat in front of one of the terminals and brought up the sheets he wanted. _Hmmm, a classic sim-deathmatch competition, a sim-capture the flag with either pre-existing or random generated teams and a blood-deathmatch._ He put his name down for the two sim competitions, inserting his ID token to prove who he was. He would have loved to go for the blood match but it was just too risky with his dreams.

As he was getting up to leave he heard shouting from the far end of the hall. He recognised Mace Kendell immediately but it took a few moments for him to place the two players he was talking to. Even after he recognised them he could not think of their names, it was them who were shouting. Adama guessed what was happening, _great, hes laying them off too, does that put me on a level with those nobodies?_ Shaking his head he started back to his cell.


	2. Chapter 2

That night his sleep was troubled. He tossed and turned until the early hours and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed. It was raining. Sometimes they simulated rain in the matches, this time it was heavy and beat down on his team, stopping them from seeing very far. He took stock of the situation. Six men left where originally there had been fifteen, it had been a bloody match with heavy casulties on both sides. They had stopped in an easily defensible valley, only one enterance at either end, the hills to the sides lost in the rain. He had a sudden urge to slink off into that rain, to conceal himself in the darkness it created until the enemy came. He shook his head to clear it, he had to stay visable to his men, they needed to see him and respect his courage. They wouldn't if he went off to hide.

"Hey boss," said Lett, "how do you reckon the viewers see through all this rain? Can't make very good watching."

"Shut up Lett and form up on me, Jon you too. Gannen, Sammy you two take point, Tomett cover our rear, they may try to slip behind our possition. There should only be three of them left now, you all did your work well earlier. Lets finish this without loosing any more of our own."

"Copy that boss, lets flush the fuckers out," replied Gannen. They stalked forward, the team moving as one, a well oiled machine. He was proud of them, what was left of his team, he'd recruited every one of them himself and trained them to be the best they could be. His Plasma-rifle felt uneasy in his hands, why did he wish that it was a knife? Suddenly he heard a blast of energy behind him as Tomett let rip with his own weapon.

"Got one," he said with a satisfied smile "I guess that leaves tw-" his sentence was curt short by a gurgle as a shock beam took him through the throat.

"Evade," bellowed the leader, there were beams all over, appearing from everywhere it seemed, _how are there so many? We killed thirteen of them already._ Sammy was already dead, blood pooling at her feet and Gannen was on his knees, one arm missing but still firing into the rain. "Lett, Jon we need to break through their line or we're dead."

"Lett's gone sir," said Jon calmly, the leader was constantly amazed at the unflapability of his second in command.

"You and me then, give us some flak cover." Jon laid down wave after wave of flak and the two of them ran as fast as they could through where they guessed their enemy to be. They passed bodies studded with Jon's ammo and some with burn holes from the leader's plasma. _They don't have team insignia or colours, what the fuck is going on?_ He felt himself falling before he felt the pain in his legs, his left one felt as if it was on fire. It was, the padded underlining of his greaves was burning fiercely and a chunk of his leg was gone. "Jon get out of here, reach safe ground and then surrender." But Jon ignored him, spun round and killed the man who had crippled his leader. He got off several more rounds before a hole appeared in his chest. He looked very surprised. _But that was solid plate armour, how could one blast breach it?_ Then realisation came, _they must be using boosted rifles, like in the one hit matches._ _But the rules! How did they get those weapons and so many more men?_ He felt a shadow fall across him.

"Ah, there you are."

Adama opened his eyes. _Damn, I never get to see his face_, he thought. He was sweating heavily and his body ached as it always did after the dreams. He knew he would never get back to sleep tonight so he swung out of bed and got dressed, running through his mind excercise whilst he changed. _That was wierd, I could feel Assassin that time, the urge to cling to the shadows and surprise the enemy, but that was Leader's dream_. He left his room behind and headed towards the training rooms, determined to put the extra time to good use and hopefully tire himself out so that he slept well later. He passed through the player's hall and off into one of the passageways beyond, even at this early time the hall was busy, full mostly of players too drunk to go back to their rooms after a heavy night. As he walked he thought, _They've always kept to themselves before, none of them ever even acknowledging the presence of the others. Why are they appearing in each other's memories?_ It seemed like a sudden jump, from complete self-absorbtion to being in memories that were not their own. _They try to help each other_, Adama realised suddenly,_ Assassin was urging Leader to hide from the attack, just like Tactician tried to stop Rage running out to his death._ He was comforted by the thought that the other presences in his mind were friendly toward one another. "If you're gonna share the space you might as well be friends," he said out loud with a grin.

He turned his line of thought to the time before he encountered his cerebral co-habitors. He had been found in the training rooms, the very place he was headed now, all bunched up in a corner. He had been unconcious and it had taken a great effort to rouse him. When he was finally awake people had a lot of questions for him, it seems that he had been missing for a month. Stranger still was the fact that he had no memory of that missing time. He had been examined by the Tournament doctors who said there was nothing wrong with his short term memory and that he was fit as ever, apparently no worse for his experience. No matter what Adama did he could not make himself remember, he had spent the next month trying. Eventually he had given up, his career was suffering and he needed to start training again. It was after that first month of trying to remember that the memories had become apparent. Since then he had hardly been able to concentrate on his fighting, he stopped winning matches and considiered himself lucky if he made the top five at the end of a fight. _What a sorry state of affairs, I really need to kick some arse in these sim matches. If i get a good ranking in the deathmatch i'll be able to use the prize money to sponsor myself for a while. Show that fool Kendell what he let slip away._ The prizes for the tournament were simple enough: in deathmatches the top five ranked players recieved prizes, a lot more than they paid to enter so that was the best way to get rich. In team battles, such as capture the flag, the player with the most kills on each team got a prize and so did the entire winning team, smaller but still worthwhile. In all battles there was also the crowd pleaser award, it went to the player who had been the most showy and extravagant. There were a couple of other prizes reserved for Cups, mainly awarded for completing certain objectives in battle, such as being in the top three after only using an Enforcer for the entire fight. Basically objectives that made the fights even more watchable.

Adama reached the training rooms, they were a large set of single story rooms, all connected to the Tournament's training system. The training system did not generate arenas that were used in the actual Tournament, instead it had several training-only landscapes, you could program virtual opponents to fight against or battle with other training players. He wandered into a room at random, expecting most of them to be empty at this early time but found it occupied by a lone player. She shut off the program as he entered, took the visor off and smiled up at him. She had brown hair kept cut just above her shoulders and beautiful hazel eyes. Her face was heart shaped and her smile fitted it perfectly, looking as through it permenantly resided there. She had tanned skin but was not dark and, Adama could not tell exactly because she was reclining in one of the sim chairs, was around 5'6 in height. All in all she was very pretty to look at and Adama found himself staring.

"Oh good," she said, "I'm tired of fighting these simulations, no imagination any of them."

"Err.. Hi, i'm Adama Cyrell. Nice to meet you..."

"Leinne, Leinne Starfall."

"Nice to meet you Leinne, so you fancy a match hunh?

"Definately, I couldn't sleep and figured the practice would be good, what with the Garaxis two days from now."

"Great minds think alike, and have trouble sleeping at the same times it seems," Adama was trying his best to be charming, "deathmatch?"

"Definately, get set up so I can kick your arse." She had an impish grin on her face as she lowered her visor and entered the virtual world. Adama smiled to himself, _what the hell, this should be fun._ He lay back on the chair next to Leinne and put his ID token into the console slot. Here it had duel purpose, to identify a player and then to charge them for using the training facility. Nothing was free in the world of the Tournament. He used the console to patch into her battlefield, then he slipped the visor helmet down over his head and relaxed.


	3. Chapter 3

He was standing amongst the ruins of a castle, a weapon stand next to him. The sky was a deep orange and full of patchy clouds, giving the impression of a storm approaching at dusk. He selected a Plasma-rifle from the stand and made for a set of steps in front of him. He left what turned out to be a courtyard and climbed the steps into a large hall. The hall was decked out as if for a feast but all was chaos, tables upturned, food everywhere. Adama had a sudden feeling of unease and threw himself to the floor as a burst of minigun fire erupted from one of the upturned tables. It flew through the space he had previously occupied and Adama returned fire at the table, shattering it with plasma. But Leinne had moved on and was laying covering fire as she went, Adama struggled out of a doorway with some of the bullets ringing off his armour. He took a moments respite behind the safety of the wall and then launched himself back through the doorway using the beam fire to immaciate anything in front of him. The room was empty, either she had gone out and down the steps where he originally entered or she had gone through a door to his left. Adama picked the door and came to a smaller room with a wooden lift the only means of exit. She was only moments ahead of him so she would not have had time to work it, meaning she must have gone down the steps. He spun back and saw her, or rather her Minigun as it spat out a hail of bullets. He only just had time to dive to his right. _Trapped, I can't use the lift without her hearing me working the ropes. But does she know thats the only way out?_

"I know the only way out of there is a lift Adama," her singsong voice sounded lovely, even in this situation. "If I hear you trying to use it, you're in trouble." Adama swore softly. _Pull the ropes to lure her in._ At first Adama had no idea where the idea had come from, realisation came as a shock. _Tactician?_ But there was no reply. The idea was a good one though so Adama started pulling on the lift ropes with one hand while he kept his rifle pointed at the door. Leinne burst around the corner so quick Adama almost missed his chance but his plasma found its mark. He noticed that even the look of shock on her face was pretty as she dissolved. He stuck his head round the corner and advanced to the hall, exiting it by the door on the right where he had hidden moments before. There was a long coridor stretching both left and right, after a few seconds hesitation Adama headed left and turned a corner to see Leinne standing in the middle of a room with a Bio rifle in her hands. He smiled to himself, _Bio rifle against Plasma-cannon_. As he planted his feet to fire a barrage at her he realised her rifle was already smoking. He noticed something by his feet, a big green blob that promptly exploded. He respawned in a room he had not seen yet. _She killed me with a Bio-rifle! No-one uses a bloody Bio-rifle efectively, its a joke of a weapon!_ Well it seemed she was good with one, she had timed it perfectly when she heard him coming down the coridor. The rest of the battle passed quickly, Leinne reaching the target of twenty kills three before Adama. His companions stayed silent throughout the rest of the match and Adama was beginning to think he had imagined Tactician giving the advice. The match ended and they both removed their headware.

"Thanks," said Leinne, "I really had to work for that, and you almost had me a coupla times."

"Ha!" Said Adama with a toss of his head, "i'll know to push harder next time." _I gave it everything I had_, he was thinking, _shes bloody fast._

"What events are you doing in the Garaxis?" She asked innocently. Adama hesitated before replying, wishing he could say the blood matches.

"I'm doing both sim competitions, what about you?"

"Well i'll see you in the flag sim matches, and then im doing the blood-deathmatch. How come you never do the blood matches anymore, you used to be quite good I heard?" Adama's face obviously betrayed some of his dismay at the question because Leinne said, "sorry, its no business of mine."

"Its ok," said Adama composing himself. He was not really surprised that she had heard of him, his story was known to most of the players staying at the Tournament grounds, "If you've heard that I don't compete anymore you've probably heard the reason as well. I get these... headaches I guess you can call them." Adama had never told anyone about the memories in his head, people would think him mad. "They leave me incapacitated and as you know, thats it in a blood match, no second chances." Leinne had a sad smile on her face, and a look that said pity. That made Adama angry. "Look, I don't need pity alright? I'm doing ok in the sim battles and who knows, maybe the headaches will clear up soon," _fat chance_, he thought to himself.

"It wasn't pity Adama, sorry if I upset you, it's just that you're really quite good, at times brilliant. Even though I won that battle some of your kills were far superior, sometimes you reacted before I even knew what I was doing." Adama felt his anger drain away, he could not seem to stay mad at this woman. "You're just madly inconsistent thats all," she said with a smile.

"I'm sorry I sparked, no sleep makes me a grumpy wanker sometimes. Maybe we can practice some more before the Cup?"

"No time like the present," Leinne looked at him cheekily, "that is, if you think you're up to another match?"

"With a phrase like that you may as well have double-dared me. Very well, but i'm warning you, I won't hold back this time."

"Bring it," with that she sat back and pulled the visor down over her head. Adama punched in the instructions for one of his favourite training areas and joined her in the virtual world. They battled for several more matches, Adama tried his hardest but everytime Leinne beat him by a handfull of kills, until they reached their fifth match. They came out of the virtual world together and Leinne was laughing.

"Where the hell did that come from?" She said, still laughing. "You start out being all killable and then you annihilate me twenty kills to three!" Adama found her laughter contagious.

"I guess I got a bit tired of being your punchbag." In reality Adama did not really know what had happened. Leinne had gone three kills up at the very beginning and something inside him had just snapped, or rather had come together. He felt as if he had been fighting whole, for the first time in ages.

"Well thats how I expect you to play if we get put on the same CTF team in the Cup, alright? Anyway i've got to go, i'm meeting with my new sponsor. Says he has some advice for me."

"Yeh right, as if any of them have any idea what being in the Tournament is like. Well I guess i'll see you at the flag matches, good luck with the blood fights."

"Thanks, you too, good luck with yours." With that she turned and exited, disappearing down the coridor. _Wow,_ thought Adama as he retrieved his token and made for the door himself. As he was headed back to his room he glanced at the time display on an info screen in the hall. _Holy shit, how is it the afternoon?_ A long time had passed whilst training it seemed and he suddenly realised that he was shattered. He walked slowly back to his cell thinking about that last battle with Leinne. _She was so fast, in all the other fights she was running rings around me. What was different that last time?_

_You were complete._ Adama stopped, in shock, and looked around. He had no idea where the voice had come from, but it had sounded like it was inside his head.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hel...Hello?_ He felt ridiculous._ Is anybody there?_ Nothing, not even a glimmer of recognition. He stood rooted to the spot for another few moments trying to reasure himself that, really, he was not going mad. He could have sworn that the comment had been directed by one of the presences in his mind, it had to have been, but they were unresponsive to any probing and.seemed even more silent than usual.

Adama made his way back to the player's hall and wandered over to one of the many bars, still pondering. He was brought back to reality by a gruff voice. "Well if it isn't Adama 'Sleeping Beauty' Cyrell." The voice belonged to a grisly looking giant of a man called Granite, so called because of his striking resemblance to a mountain. He was the captain of Physical Torment, a team where the main entry requirement was was being over 6'5 and built like the proverbial outhouse. He was grinning from ear to ear, something that did not enhance his already rough features, and around him were seated several of his team members. "Fallen asleep while fightin' recently Sleeping Beauty?'

"Not now Granite," Adama pulled up a chair and seated himself at the giant man's table. Whilst not exactly best friends, Adama and Granite had fought against each other for long enough that a form of mutual respect had developed. Adama had come to quite like the big man's ostentatious sense of humour.

"Oi, bartender," Granite shouted across to the serving robot, "one Spinal Cord for my mate here." All the drinks in the Tournament bars had ridiculous names. Granite shifted in his seat so that he was leaning back, severely straining the structural integrity of the large chair. "You look glum, chum. Whats the problem?" Adama took a moment to answer, and when he did he left out mention of the voice.

"I'm just not having the best of weeks. Mace cut my sponsorship for a start, after the Garaxis i'm on my own." His drink arrived. "I dont know why you drink these things Gran', they have absolutely no taste."

"Get you proper tanked though," he said with a chuckle, "and you look as if you could really do with not being sober."

"You know what," said Adama coming to a decision, "the Cup ain't until the day after tomorrow, I think i'll take your advice. You guys gonna be here all evening?" There was a cheer from the Physical Torment team.

"Probably most of tomorrow as well," Granite's grin was still fixed firmly in place. "You've got some catching up to do little man, knock that back and we'll get another round in."

Looking back on that day, and the night that followed, Adama would always wince when he remembered exactly how much he'd drunk. Spinal Cord had followed Spinal Cord until Adama lost count. Eventually they had moved onto other concoctions, the Flak surprise had been full of floating bits that turned out to be a form of alcoholic sugar and when Adama had tried his first ever Eternal Biter he almost retched at the sheer potency, earning many laughs from the members of Torment. They later explained that it was named after a previous Tournament champion, Rakem Biter, who had died of alcohol poisoning instead of in the arena. "He died with a drink in his hand, one that still lives on! A toast to good old Rakem," bellowed Granite at some point. There had been a lot of toasting, Adama recalled, he vagely remembered offering up one for his boots at one point. At the time it had been widely accepted as a comparitavely sensible one. Eventually, along with many of the members of Physical Torment, Adama blacked out.

The engineer looked down proudly at the finished article. It lay on his work bench, glinting in the light given out by the bright bulbs in the workshop. It looked very much like a standard issue Tournament Plasma rifle, indeed that had been what it started out as. The difference, the engineer knew, was that it had a much increased rate of fire and a modification to its seconday mode. Instead of a direct beam of plasma, deadly effective but merciless in its use of energy, the weapon now had the ability to charge a large single globe of plasma. The clever part was the targeting system that the engineer had painstakingly installed. Not only was it capable of homing in on the selected target to the extent of avoiding basic obstacles, but the weapon calculated how much power was required to destroy the target and modified the output accordingly. It effectively prevented wasted ammunition. It was impossible to enter the arena with modified weapons, the engineer was all too aware, but it had been the organisers of the Tournament themselves that had commisioned him to develop the new weapon. _It takes away the joy of the kill._ The engineer did not seem to hear the voice, he picked up the rifle and moved over to its case to put it away. As he opened the protective box he heard a noise behind him. _Spin, level the weapon, fire, roll, evade, all one smooth action._ Again the engineer was oblivious and turned to see who had entered the workshop. He never managed to fully turn himself around, mainly due to the burst of small arms fire that caught him in his side. As he fell to his knees he noticed that the workshop looked very different from this angle, he could not see his attackers face, but he did get a good long look at his boots.


	5. Chapter 5

Adama opened his eyes and sat up, instantly regretting it because his head exploded. He crashed back onto his bed with a barely audiable moan of dismay. _No no no, why is someone playing drums in my head?_ He lay still for several moments until the pain eased off slightly and then gradually moved into a sitting possition. The drums faded, only to be replaced by a feeling akin to being poked in the eyes with needles, from the inside of his head. He took in his surroundings and realised with relief that he was in his own cell. He also noticed the prostrate form of Granite lying on the floor. He got up, swayed dangerously, and just managed to keep his feet. Staggering over to the info console by the door he brought up the display, he needed to know what time it was. 6:00 o'clock in the morning he read. _But how is that possible? We were drinking all night, we cant have stopped any earlier than 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning, i needed more sleep than that._ Then a feeling of dread took hold of him and he checked the date. _Oh Shitsticks, its tomorrow, I mean its today but today is tomorrow. The Cup starts in four hours!_ He had slept right through the day and most of the night following the drinking session. "Granite!" He bellowed, "Granite wake up you bloody nonce." The shouting made his head throb madly but he did not have time for that now. "GRANITE, WAKE UP!" The big man opened his eyes, they were bloodshot and unfocused but he quickly recovered and took in his surroundings.

"Haha, how did we get back here Ad?"

"Gran' the Cup starts today, we slept through all of yesterday." Granite was instantly attentant.

"Where did we leave my team, can you remember?"

"I think that second in command of yours mentioned something about all sleeping in his room," muttered Adama whilst rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Hopefully they're still there, its 6:00am so we have a couple of hours before the first matches. Its the sim-deathmatches to begin with I think." Granite climbed to his feet and seemed unsteady for a moment but then settled, he was obviously more used to hangovers than Adama.

"Right, i'm gonna go wake my lazy excuse for a team. I'll see you at the first flag match." With that he opened the door and walked out. Adama watched as the door slid shut behind him. He wanted nothing more than to slip back into sleep but he knew if he did he would not wake up in time for the first matches. Something in the back of his mind was trying to make itself known, something about the dream he had had, but his head still hurt and he pushed all thoughts, bar the upcoming fights, from his mind.

It took Adama just under three hours to make himself feel battle-worthy. In that time he ate a large breakfast in the company of many other players, the food hall was full to bursting with competitors who had gotten up early to prepare for the day's festivities, spent some time thinking about strategy and chose what armour he would be fighting in. Although everything in the match would be simulated, the armour you wore was still important because the Tournament created an exact image of you in the match, down to the very clothes you were wearing and whatever protection they could offer. He arrived at the player's hall and went through a large door leading to a room known as the Anex, he got there about an hour before the first battle was due to begin. The Anex was essentially a large waiting room that split off into the Tournament's sim chambers and the holographic arenas where the blood matches were fought. He had remembered correctly, it was the sim-deathmatches first. Four battles with ten fighters in each would make up the first round, with the top half in each match going through to two matches in the second round. The top five in both of those matches would make up the players in the final. Adama walked over to the listings and checked which group he was in. _Group B, hmm a couple of noteables in my first round. Holy shit i'm glad i'm not in D thats gonna be a blood bath._ He saw that he was going to be fighting aboard the Starchaser, a battleship that had won some renown in a war several decades ago, enough for it to be immortalised in the Tournament. It was quite spacious, with winding coridors and a large central chamber where it was always harazdous to remain for long due to the many entry points, you could never cover them all. Adama remembered that the first ever battle aboard the Starchaser had been between its old crew, a fight that drew quite a large audience. He pushed all thought of it from his mind and sat down, waiting for the call from the announcer.

Adama did not have to wait too long. Soon all fourty players had assembled and they were allowed into their various rooms. The sim chamber was similar to the training rooms Adama had used recently. They were devoid of furnishing apart from the reclining chairs that were spaced evenly around the room, each had a visor suspended above that would lower onto the players once they were seated. There were also sensors built into the chair that scanned the body once it was reclining. These were partly to gather the information needed to create the projection and partly used to monitor the life signs of the players. The visors created a catatonic state in the competitiors who were then able to concentrate fully on the images fed to them. It was as if they were in the virtual world that the computers created, no distractions, just fighting. Once Adama and the nine other players in group B were seated an official entered from a side door and addressed them about accidents. "In the unlikely event that you should suffer any harm during this coming battle, physical or mental, the Tournament and its sponsors can not be held responsible. You should know that the chances of something going wrong are very slim. However, if anyone wishes to leave, now is the time." No-one moved. Without anything further the official left and the visors began to descend.


	6. Chapter 6

Stars flew past the window. Adama had known the ship would be in hyperspace but the sight took his breath away nonetheless. _Down to business_, he thought, and headed along the coridor he had spawned in. He reached a cross roads and heard gunfire off to his left. Still armed with his Enforcer he ran towards the noise. He saw two people, a figure darting through a doorway into the central chamber and someone giving chase. The second man turned his Enforcer on Adama and let off a series of blasts. He was holding it side on, a style that was known as 'gangsta'. _Stupid tit_, thought Adama as all the bullets went wide. He brought up his own weapon and put a bullet through the player's head, he dropped like a stone. Adama did not give the man a second thought and was already after the other opponent he had seen. As he entered the arena he spotted him lying in a pool of his own blood, he also spotted the shock rifle he had been heading for. _By the look of the body we have a sniper camping it up in here_. He looked up and judged the offending player to be on a ledge directly above him, _not worth the risk_, he thought and exited the way he came in. He wandered the halls for a while not finding any weapons and then he remembered what made this arena so frustrating, all the hardware was in the central room. Grinding his teeth Adama set off for one of the higher levels and an enty point to the central room. He practically ran into the player he met on the way up, it was the same one that he had killed a moment ago and Adama took grim satisfaction in dispatching the beginner again. _So much for that new blood of yours Mace_. He reached the third level out of four and decided it was high time he got into the thick of things. He ran for the doorway and just as he was about to enter he heard something.

_Theres someone there, duck and roll._ Not knowing why, Adama dived through the doorway and rolled, turning as he did so. A blast of blue energy filled the space where his head would have been had he entered normally. Having come to a stop after his roll Adama leveled his weapon and let forth a stream of bullets that dropped the woman with the rifle. He picked it up with a smile and turned to the room. Then he lost his head. He respawned in a coridor somewhere with only his Enforcer for company once more. "Fuck! I hate snipers." He decided that he or she must be on the top floor to have gotten a shot like that.

_I bet they've got a juicy number of kills as well._ He made for the sloping platforms that created the access to the higher levels but as he passed an opening to another passage a barrage of plasma flew at him, gouging deep marks in the side of his breastplate. He fell to the floor just past the doorway, his side was burning as the plasma ate away merrily at his skin. He turned towards the opening and aimed his Enforcer, ready to put an end to the player that had maimed him.

_If it were me, i'd come around and through that other door there._ Adama was confused, that had sounded, or rather felt, like Tactician.

_But none of you have ever spoken to me before?_ Thought Adama, a question in his voice. There was no reply. Adama did change his aim though and was rewarded by a look of surprise on the face of his assailant as he burst out of the other doorway expecting to take Adama unawares. He fell to his knees with a bullet between his eyes. Adama had always prided himself on his deadeye shooting, his aim was superb. _How many is that? Four, must be four. What was the limit again?_ Then he remembered that it was a timed battle. _Good, i'm never gonna reach that sniper's score but I have a good chance of making the top five._ He got to his feet and wished there were medpacks in sim matches, _God this hurts,_ he thought. He was just about to recommence his climb when a thought came to him unbidden, _I wonder how good that sniper is? He caught me unawares last time, as I guess he caught most others._ He could feel Rage's desire to run out, grab a weapon and blast the sniper from down here. He also felt the touch of another set of memories, this one felt almost mechanical.

_Theres a four second delay between loading with a standard issue Tournament sniper rifle, add a second for aiming and thats how long you've got to nail the bugger._ Adama was so confused, he was getting advice from the friends in his head, that in itself was absurd. But it was useful information he had to admit. He turned and walked to the doorway that led into the ground floor of the central column shaped room. He could see the shock rifle still lying in the middle of the room.

_Seven or Eight meters, cant be any more. I could make it._ He knew the rough possition of the sniper above him and apparently he had five whole seconds to get the weapon and squeeze off a shot. _Only if the barstard misses,_ he thought. He felt himself begin to run, one step, two steps.

_Now dive_, came the dark brooding thoughts that Adama had linked to Assassin. He did, and heard the crack of a shot behind him. He felt no pain and as he rose he started to count.

_One,_ only a few meters left._ Two_, almost there._ Three,_ he dived and grabbed up the weapon. _Four,_ he turned and found his target. _Five,_ he pulled the trigger hard and saw the beam lance forward, he also heard another crack. The beam passed the bullet in mid-air and took the sniper square in the chest, he flew backwards and lay still. The bullet impacted with Adama's shoulder and sprawled him onto the floor, the pain was immense but so was the joy at having made the shot. He lay there breathing heavily and probed his mind for any reaction by his friends. _Is that...smugness? Ha!_ Another player ran into the ground floor and mistook Adama for a corpse, he had his arm removed by Adama's shock rifle, a shot meant for the chest but his aim was off because of the pain in his shoulder. The second shot finished the job and Adama pulled himself to his feet. He looked up just in time to see a barrage of rockets flying towards him, mesmerising in their deadly beauty.

He respawned and took stock. _God it feels good to be whole again_, the plasma wounds to his side were gone and there was no longer a gaping hole in his shoulder. _Those two make six, I need more to garuntee my placing._ He glanced into the central chamber to see what level he was on, the third again it seemed, and made his way to the ramp leading up. He was determined to find that sniper rifle and put it to good use. The rest of the battle passed in a blur. Adama succeded in getting his hands on the rifle and roamed around the higher levels making life a misery for the other players whenever he paused to take aim. He was eventually put down by a woman with a flak cannon who managed to get close behind him. The battle ended shortly after that and back in the chamber the players removed their visors as the computers awoke them from their catatonic states.

Adama smiled, it had gone well, he had needed a good performance and had delivered, all be it with a little help from his friends. He had finished the match with fifteen kills to his name, and had only died three times. He got up and went to look at the leader board. To his mild surprise his name was in the second place spot. _Excellent, definately enough to get me through._

_That was a good fight, loads o' blood, just how I like it, _came Rage's voice in Adama's head.

_Well fought tactically, good use of the high ground, well done,_ came Tactician's calculated voice / feeling.

_Ok guys, we really need to talk, now that you finally are talking I mean_, said Adama in his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

He had several hours before the first round of the capture the flag competition, so Adama made his way slowly back to his rooms, apparently silent despite his good performance. What people who saw him pass by could not have known was that there was a conversation going on inside his head. _So you all actually realise that you're 'living' inside my head?_

_Yes,_ the thought came from the group of memories known as Leader.

_But none of you know how you came to be here? You have no recollection of anything after those dreams I keep having?_

_The next thing I, and indeed all of us, remember is being trapped in what seemed like a grey mist. We soon came to realise we weren't alone but not until recently have we been able to communicate with each other, and only now have we managed to speak directly with you._ The response had come from Tactician. _It took us a while but we finally realised we were somehow in your mind, sharing your consciousness._

_So in other words, we know just as little about the situation as you do Adama,_ thought Tech. The others felt Adama sigh inwardly.

_Well I guess there's nothing we can do until we work out how you guys got here, then maybe we can see about getting you...back home I guess._ Adama got back to his room and, sitting on his bed with his back resting against the wall, spent two hours talking to his friends. He asked about their previous lives and was pleased to find out that they all remembered some of their history, up until the various ends that had befallen them. What they could not remember was their names. In fact, according to Tech it was getting harder for them to reach back for memories that happened a long time in the past. They were gradually forgetting who they were.

Rage had been the captain of his own blood-deathmatch team. He remembered being reasonably successful but could not remember the name of the team he captained, nor could he recall the faces of the others that made up the team.

Tactician was a mind for hire, he had made his services available to mercenary teams going into the Tournament and added the crucial element of planning that was so often lacking in merc' groups. They enlisted different players for every match and assessing the strengths and weaknesses of these new team-members had been important for the possibility of victory.

Leader, like Rage had been the captain of his own team. He could vaguely remember their names, due to the fact that they were present in his reoccurring dream, but he knew deep down that they were all dead. This saddened and enraged him. These were powerful versions of the emotions, versions that only people of responsibility can feel when they know that they have failed those in their care. Despite his internal raging, Leader could still inspire loyalty and obedience in men, now he aimed to do so through Adama.

Tech was a genius when it came to all things mechanical. He occasionally fought in the Tournament but mostly spent his time modifying existing, or creating new, weaponry. His knowledge covered vehicles as well as weapons, he could pilot every known tank, plane, boat, buggy and chopper he had ever encountered, and that was saying a lot.

Assassin had operated as a bounty hunter, both in the real world and in the Tournament. After all, what better way to kill someone than in a blood fight, where no-one would suspect the ulterior motives. An expert at his trade, Assassin had over 300 'hits' to his name before he had been brought low. From what Adama could tell from the reoccurring dream, this particular target had been waiting for him. As Adama recalled the details he could feel the dream tugging at his senses and, willingly for once, he surrendered himself to it.

The perimeter wall was at least twenty feet high. The black-clad man, hugging it close, moved to a section where it ran parallel to the river that he had emerged from. He had immersed himself in it two miles upstream and let it carry him to his current location. His target had high security overlooking the road access to the facility but it was less tight on the riverside, hence the lengthy insertion process. It would be worth the trouble to catch the facility completely off guard. His Adreno-suit was already dry, the outer layer having heated itself slightly to evaporate the water. Pressing his gloved hands up against the wall, the man began to climb, powerful suction cups in the fingers of the gloves and the kneepads allowing him to effortlessly traverse the vertical barrier. After briefly glancing over the wall to make sure it was clear, he pulled himself over and started the climb down the other side. Once grounded he brought up the map of the facility, something that he had gone to reasonable lengths to acquire. It appeared, translucent on the inside of his visor, and he quickly confirmed his location and the direction he needed to go to follow his pre-op' diagnosis. As he made his way towards the central building he passed through ornate gardens and orchards, his mark was obviously a wealthy man, and he used their shadows and cover for his approach. The main building in the grounds was impressive, to say the least. It resembled the mansions of the second Victorian era, circa 2080, with lots of emphasis placed upon key visual points such as the main entrance and the colonnades that held up the various balconies. This slyly took attention away from the built in defences, gun emplacements in the style of gargoyles, sensors at the bases of pillars and a plethora of other safety features. _Paranoid as well as rich,_ thought the man as he approached one of the colonnades. He knew that he would not be able to use his suit to climb the pillars, the sensors would detect the vibrations that his touch would cause, but he had come well prepared. Around the man's neck and across his body a bandoleer shaped section of the suit suddenly detached. He unwound the strong cord and attached one end to something he pulled from his belt, the other end he attached to the belt itself and rewound the cord so that it was inside the belt firing mechanism, all but the end with the strange attachment. He then took a step backwards and, with an almost inaudible hiss, the cord fired itself up onto the balcony. The small canister that the man had attached to the fired end dissolved, releasing the gripping putty that was contained inside. It held the cord in place and the man reeled himself up, the belt rewinding the cord and lifting him easily.

Once safely on the balcony the man permitted himself a brief smile, so far so good, and the gripping putty had proved very effective. It eliminated the noise made by a grappling hook and proved to be even more effective when it came to securing the cord. He examined the balcony door for alarms and, upon finding several, proceeded to disarm them. _Useful piece of kit this portable EMP,_ the device he was using sent out small, concentrated bursts of electromagnetic waves which rendered the alarm useless for a brief period. Even if security had been monitoring the readouts from the alarms nothing more than a momentary power surge would register. He closed the door behind himself and waited a moment to make sure the alarms came back without a problem. Satisfied, he headed out of what appeared to be a grandly decorated waiting room and into the corridor, where he followed the translucent map towards the room he knew to be the mark's sleeping chambers. Something was worrying at the back of his mind but he could not put his finger on it. As he neared the bedroom he concentrated on the feeling, you did not stay alive as a successful assassin if you ignored your gut instincts, but it was only when he had eased himself into the room that he realised what the problem was. _No guards, I should have had to kill at least two by now._

"Good evening." No thought, only action. He hurled a razor sharp disk towards the space where the voice had come from and switched his visor to infra-red. No readings in the room, in fact it was empty apart from the furnishings and a PA system lying on the bed with his disk embedded in it. Suddenly metal barriers fell from slots in the ceiling, blocking off the windows, and he could hear noises that indicated the same was happening all through the house. Turning, he bolted from the room and made for the roof. About thirty seconds down the corridor his visor began picking up heat signatures converging on his location, lots of them. He stopped mid-run and slid to a halt, removing another device from his belt. It was a small, circular block that he slammed onto the wall before shooting off down another passageway that had fewer heat signatures registering along it. He encountered the first few just as a resounding explosion sounded behind him, filling the passage behind with flame. The effect, other than killing several of whatever it was that was following him, was that the heavily armed men in front of him were momentarily blinded. A moment not wasted by the bounty-hunter as a secreted blade slid out from its holder and was rapidly used to dispatch them. Before the final corpse hit the ground, the man was already running on down the corridor, following the blueprints projected on his visor. He was on the top floor by now and only had to cross one last large room before access to the roof would be possible via a small stairwell. He was cautious however, his mark had known he was coming and would not let him go easily. However, over a dozen of the heat signatures were approaching fast and he knew he had to continue into the large open room or be overwhelmed. He decided to take the room at top speed and flew across the threshold, slamming straight into a see-through wall. Momentarily stunned, the assassin was brought back to his senses by the noise of footfalls approaching fast. He pulled himself to his feet, still groggy from running full tilt into what turned out to be one of many transparent walls filling the room and turning it into a maze. His mind raced, trying to turn this upset to his advantage. He assumed that whatever was following him knew about the maze room and would be prepared, they would almost certainly know the way through the room. With seconds to spare the assassin pulled a strange looking pair of earplugs out of his belt along with a small sphere. He put the earplugs in just as the first of seven heavily armoured guards burst into the room. Turning on his heel he sped into the maze, the walls visible with a slight adjustment to his visor, and made for the centre of the maze. As he approached the area he wanted to be in he found it blocked by yet another wall but glancing back he saw his current position would be fine. The guards had split up upon entering the maze and were moving to surround him, the black-clad man could not help but admire the ingenious nature of the maze, all paths lead to the same place, certain routes being far swifter than others. Without knowing the way through the labyrinth of poly-glass walls anyone trying to escape would be swiftly surrounded and trapped. A brief smile swept across his face as he crouched into a ball, the sphere tossed to the ground near him. He loved adding the unexpected to people's plans. As the guards closed in on him a high pitched whining began to blare from the sphere, getting higher and higher in pitch. Suddenly its progression changed and instead of increasing in pitch it _broadened_, emitting palpable waves of sound, almost solid with the force they struck the ears. The assassin's earplugs, upon hearing the first high pitched whine, had formed an airtight vacuum around the man's ears, preventing him from hearing anything. Around him, the guards thrashed on the floor until they eventually grew still, their bleeding ears finally erupting outwards in fountains of blood. Another effect of the noise was the sudden shattering of the poly-glass walls filling the room and blocking access to the stairwell. No longer able to stand the pitch and frequency from the sphere they splintered with a melodious tinkling sound, one that the assassin was utterly unaware of. He got to his feet and removed the earplugs, but only after the sphere had melted, its core superheating with the effort of creating the noise. Jogging to the stairwell he reviewed the blueprints and planned a route back to the river, which would carry him swiftly away from the bloody mess the mansion had become. _Drop the wall, cross the courtyard and make for the cover of the orchard,_ he thought. With that he ran out onto the roof.


End file.
